


Just a short story

by violet_midnight



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Drabble, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_midnight/pseuds/violet_midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dancer in a box. That’s all he was. That is, when he wasn’t there to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a short story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/gifts).



> To start off with, I blame both [](http://cadkitten.livejournal.com/profile)[**cadkitten**](http://cadkitten.livejournal.com/) and a song by Lady Gaga called Bad Romance for this story.
> 
> So, with that explained, enjoy!
> 
> Also note, this has not been beta read yet, anyone interested, let me know, I would like to post it elsewhere if I can.

A dancer in a box.

That’s all he was. That is, when he wasn’t there to watch.

Body spread wide, covered in leather and latex, the barest hint of skin were his thighs and face. Tattoos never showed, a sign of a life spent fighting away demons of his past.

But not when he was there, watching.

Then..

Gloved hands pressed against glass, chains pulled tight against skin, bruised under leather. Legs spread wide, garters keeping his pants in place almost snapping from the pressure while heeled feet dug into the glass floor below.

Painted lips, blood red mouth , looking stark against all the black, from outfit to hair, kept long, to hide more ink.

He was there, watching. The one who made him paint his lips blood red, to match the wild mane of hair to surrounded that man.

He watched, every night. Watched that chained dancer writhe across that glass box, his glass prison.

But he never stayed, the redhead with the soulful eyes and bright smile. He always left the same way every night.

On the arm of a blonde, small, baring his scars and tattoos to the world without a fear of judgment. That man never paid the dancer any mind, taking the redhead by the hand to lead him out without a word.

Their eyes only met then, the dancer and the mysterious man, while the only sound to the dancer’s ears were the sounds of the chains clanking against glass and skin as that smile appeared, bright and all straight teeth.

He said something then, the same thing he said every night to the dancer, but never to be heard.

The only sound that resounded then with the dancer was that of hands pounding against glass, bruising his skin further, hidden from the world.

Just as the redhead words were to him. Only the blonde would know, who kept the redhead’s hand tight in his as they walked away.

He still gave the dancer no mind.


End file.
